


The Crew and Their Burdens

by Kanari



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Character Shorts maybe, Fake AH Crew, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don't really know what this is, Kinda, Not much plot, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-09-01 20:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanari/pseuds/Kanari
Summary: Set after an unspecified apocalypse that left the world in shambles and follows the story of the 6 before they became a crew.





	1. Jeremy

**Author's Note:**

> Set after an unspecified apocalypse that left the world in shambles and follows the story of the 6 before they became a crew. 
> 
> Sorry if this doesn't make sense, I had the idea and had to write it down.

When the world “ends”, people die. After the economic collapse, people stole. After the societal collapse, people got violent. After it all, people died. All except for the Survivor.

Though many people lived, none survived as he did. A survivor at heart, the man is short but strong, strong in the way many aren’t. For it is not just about how many ordeals he has lived through but how bad the ordeal. Many who have seen the scars left by sharp objects and bruises left by blunt that litter his body wonder how he still breathes. But he does not know how to do anything else. 

The stories they tell about him are all true. He has crawled out of a terrible car crash with only scratches, escaped a huge gunfight with a single bullet wound to the arm, been the only one to walk out of a burning building alive. The Survivor is chased by wreckage and wounds, but continues, walking through things that most could not. 

He used be called the Survivalist, as people thought that to survive what he has, he must know what he’s doing. And he does know a few things; what plants are poisonous, how to trap game, when to diffuse or run from a situation. But he does not know enough to be called a survivalist and for it to be true.

No, he is survivor. Cursed to be exact. All his friends and family have died, simply by walking with him and not surviving the impossible trials that he has. The car that crashed was full, the gunfight left bodies on the ground to cool, the building was family owned. All those who are around him, who follow him, who are close, die. He is cursed.

But it is his burden, so he must bear it. 

That is, until he meets the Engineer. A man with almost as many scars and just as strong, does not die. Not in the forest fire, not in the hit and run, not in multiple gunfights. The Engineer does not die, even though he was standing right next to the Survivor through them all. 

And the Survivor thinks, maybe, this burden can be shared.


	2. Michael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed who the Survivor met from the last chapter from the Hunter to the Engineer. I got the ordering a bit wrong but it's fixed now. 
> 
> Just so you know this is who the Survivor met last chapter.

When the world “ends”, innovation stops. Parts cannot be remade so machines decay. People focus on surviving with what they have instead of rebuilding so cities stop, then fall. Time moves backwards, people revert. All except for the Engineer.

Living in an old mechanic shop, he builds. While others scavenge and make do, he creates, constructs, designs. The shop is littered with machines for all purposes and the short tempered Engineer is always working. Working on the next solution. The solution to any and every problem. He welds, he saws, he fixes, he creates. None can build answers like he can. 

The stories they tell about him are all true. Give him a car and he will fix it. Give him a generator, a gun, a roof. He will fix them all. He breathes parts and pieces. Give him a river, he will build a bridge. He doesn’t just fix, he makes. The Engineer has all the solutions; he makes them, from broken bits or separate parts, solutions others never see. 

He used to be called the Mechanic, fixing all the things he does. Living in his shop, he will know what’s wrong with any engine, any construction with a gear or a bolt or a moving part. But he knows too much more to be called just a mechanic and for it to be true. 

No, he is an Engineer. Cursed to be exact. Out of all the solutions he makes, not all of them are good, not all of them are kind. For people can be problems too. And he has the solutions. He can’t help it, his mind is always working, building, creating, destroying. And people fear it. They fear the things he makes with fertiliser, with gunpowder, with sharp objects. He creates destruction; no matter how much he fixes and constructs, he always destroys. He is cursed. 

But it is his burden, so he must bear it. 

That is, until he meets the Hunter. A man made of destruction himself. He does not mind the creations, he appreciates the innovation, the solutions people don’t want to think about. And people are just as scared of him. The Engineer finds that he does not need to fix or create anything, as the Hunter solves his own problems. 

And the Engineer thinks, maybe, this burden can be shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if the writing seems a bit repetitive, that's how it's supposed to be.
> 
> Also, idk how to get rid of the other note down here.


	3. Ryan

When the world "ends", people starve. Food is stockpiled, but perishables have a use-by. Shops are raided, but cans are in high demand. Production decreases to those who can grow, those who can raise. They are in high demand and harder to find. People starve because finding food is a mystery. All except for the Hunter.

Evolution gave humans hunting and gathering, and evolution took it away. Concrete jungles are just concrete. But the Hunter can find game anywhere. He walks with silent tread and steady aim. Evolution did not take it away from him, it never could, he lives it. No one know for how long he has. Just as no one knows what his face looks like. 

The stories they tell about him are all true. He arrives into towns after weeks wild, without a footprint, without a word. He brings food for payment, always. Animals, skins, berries, herbs; he finds them all. No place is picked clean, no game too hard, no habitat unliveable. The Hunter brings back food and supplies that others could never get, never find, never catch. 

He used to be called the Tracker, due to his inhuman ability to find animals in all environments. Hills or swamps. Rocks or sand. His traps are to be marvelled as well. He is proficient, analytical, patient. But he does too much more to be called just a tracker and for it to be true.

No, he is a Hunter. Cursed to be exact. His prey is not always game, his goal not always good. For he tracks animals, traps them. And he tracks humans, traps them. Hunts. Too good for his own good. He has found, killed or captured so many for others that he wears a mask. Protection, though he does not need it physically. Protection for his own heart. They judge and run and twist away when he puts it back on, when they realise. For people are scared of him, hold him at arms length, think him immoral. He tells himself to stop, but he cannot; it is all he is. It is all anyone will ever see. No one wants to know the face they send to kill. He is cursed. 

But it is his burden, so he must bear it.

That is, until he meets the Collector. Within minutes, his mask is off without him knowing and a name is asked for. Too cheerful, too friendly, the Collector is not afraid. Not of his reputation, his actions, his 'work'. For the Collector saw him - the actual him, not the mask. He recognised the loneliness in his eyes, it is his own.

And the Hunter thinks, maybe, this burden can be shared.


	4. Gavin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the hardest one to write, and try to get right. Even though this was the first I ever thought of. The irony.

When the world "ends", things get forgotten. They get lost and left behind. There is no use for pretty and useless or expensive and delicate. Sentimentality is put in more withstanding things. No one cares for the bits left behind. All except for the Collector. 

If you saw the man, you may wonder how he moves, his arms alight in golden armour, his neck adorned with gems. He wears what he can from his collection, caring for every piece. Houses left abandoned are stripped of anything that won't be of any use. He stores them all in tool boxes - locked, dry, clean. 

The stories they tell about him are all true. Ask him to help you find something and he will have it. His stores are vast and varied, not all is jewellery. There are clothes, medicine, books, glasses, shampoo. The Collector gathers all he can find and always has what is needed. 

He used to be called the Thief, as many of the things he has are not his. And it is partly true. He could steal the ring off a finger in greeting and the watch from a wrist at goodbye. He never steals things of worth but will everything else. But he is too much more to be called just a thief and for it to be true. 

No, he is a Collector. Cursed to be exact. As he must. He gathers discarded and broken things, not by choice, by need. Broken bits find his pockets. Pockets he cleans daily, pockets he hates, pockets he sews shut. He sees bloodied rings and broken watches, takes but does not know it until accused. People hate him for it. They do not understand. The Collector takes what he thinks people deem unwanted. If they are wanted, he will give them back. If things are wanted, he will always find a way to give, always to those who wish for them. Wanted things have no place in his collection. No one asks, people only see him take. He is cursed. 

But it is his burden, so he must bear it

That is, until he meets the Healer. He asks for his medical equipment back. The Collector didn't even realise he took it, laying dirty next to the sink. And he just smiles and waves away the apology, only laughing when the Collector also discovers his rusty watch in the pocket. For the Healer understands what it it like to have something they cannot control. 

And the Collector thinks, maybe, this burden can be shared.


	5. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. Almost finished!

When the world "ends", people get injured. The safety of years past is no longer there. Hospitals are just more dead buildings and doctors are a rare commodity. There is no place for when people get broken, slashed into shreds, shot to pieces. And there's no one around to fix them. All except the Healer. 

Making a countryside veterinary practice his home, he heals. Though not a doctor, his knowledge of medicine is profound. Books line the walls of his home, on every subject about the human body. And the Healer has read them all. The rooms he uses as his practice are, like his garden, clean and organised, filled to the brim with supplies. All respect him and bring him the things he needs to heal, fix, save. 

The stories they tell about him are all true. His list of patients is long. His reputation earned. The Healer has amputated, reattached, stitched up, cut out, warmed up, cooled down, resuscitated, relieved pain. He has waded through blood and brought back life. He has torn through bone and flesh and muscle to save. The Healer cannot save everyone, not in this time, not with so little of the advancements made left. But everyone he can save, he will. 

He used to be called the Driver, revered in for another skill entirely. He could drive anything with an engine; earth, water or sky. No path uncrossable, no speed unreachable, no land untouchable. And any vehicle he couldn't drive, he would learn within minutes. He loved the roar of an engine, breathed oil and gas, lived to be behind the wheel. But now he cannot be called a Driver and for it to be true.

No, he is a Healer. Cursed to be exact. He has to sit down during long operations, just in case. Just in case his brace fails. Just in case his leg starts trembling. Just in case his knee collapses. His vehicles collect dust in a shed hidden from view by greenery he's planted. Machinery loved and once full of life, dead. The Healer hasn't left his house in months, or longer, and all he does is stare at the horizon, at the road, at the birds. Stuck. The crash was the reason he started healing. To learn, to figure out how to fix and mend and rehabilitate. And the Healer did; for the most part. Because though he can heal others, bring someone back from the brink of death, save a limb, ease pain, restart a heart; he cannot heal himself. He knows the procedure. Read the books. But the means to heal the leg have been lost. He is cursed. 

But it is his burden, so he must bear it.

That is, until he meets the Strategist. Who doesn't come to his home to be healed. He comes to offer. He offers the Healer a way out of his cage. Says he knows someone who can help him drive again. Says he'll drive him down that road himself. Says he'll be able to go anywhere. 

And the Healer thinks, maybe, this burden can be shared.


	6. Geoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done. This one was a bit difficult to write, hope it turned out ok. Enjoy!

The world "ended"; everything went to hell. Every leader on the planet drowned with the old world and there was nobody left who could take their place. Those who remained huddled together, surrounding themselves with people they trusted. They did not think outside the box, plan for the future, strive to do anything but breathe. They thought anyone new, bad; and anything different, difficult. All except the Strategist. 

He breezes through towns, always welcomed and respected. Friendly but reserved, he carries an air of quiet confidence. Leaders open doors for him before the Strategist is even in sight, eager and happy and waiting. He makes allies with mob bosses, has connections in militias and calls many simple farmers his friends. 

The stories they tell about him are all true. Many come for his advice and he gives it, for a price. These two people wouldn't work well together, that wall is too close to the forest, your caravan should have more guards at the sides. The Strategist thinks things through, deliberate and detailed, discovering connections that most would not. People believe he can see the future, the way he knows how people will act; as he can look a man in the eye and know exactly what kind of person he is, was or will be. The Strategist can rip a plan open and pick at things that those who made it cannot see. His opinion matters more than anyone else's; cleverer, instinctive. 

He used to be called the Drunk. Whiskey in his voice and beer in his veins. His eyes unfocused from the rum blinding him. He'd spend days in a bar, speaking to everyone or cradled in morose silence. And days he'd spend out of the bar he'd still feed his hunger with liquor, needing it to be sober. He could work and function and do his job but only with a flask in hand. But now he cannot be called a Drunk and it be true. 

No, he is a Strategist. Cursed to be exact. For the end of the world doesn't treat people too kindly and to survive, terrible things must be done. Even the kindest person must become a predator lest they die as prey. And the Strategist is too good at what he does. So good that he cannot shut it off. Instead of a smile, he sees steady hands used to holding a knife. Instead of a laugh, he hears feet which can tread silently. Instead of a friend, he knows the enemy they could become. He tried to shut it out, turn it off, get rid of it. His brain doesn't stop. Collecting, cataloging, scheming. He tried to drink it away, blind himself from the truths he couldn't help but see. But that didn't stop his knowing, just sent him to places where he met worse. Until one day, he stared in the mirror and saw. He left the bottle there with the truth he no longer wanted to know. About himself. Started to make a new truth but still, his brain doesn't stop. People are pawns and he moves them how he wishes. With the best intentions he uses others' worst. Always knowing, always seeing. He knows he is cursed. 

It's hard at first to accept it, but it is his burden and he will bear it.

That is, until he meets the last, the Survivor. Five stand before him. The Survivor, the Engineer, the Hunter, the Collector, the Healer. And him, the Strategist. Six pieces to complete his puzzle. It isn’t until he sees them interact, laugh, breathe, tell him their names, that he realises. Just as they aren’t exactly the Survivalist, the Mechanic, the Tracker, the Thief, the Driver and the Drunk; they should not just be the Survivor, the Engineer, the Hunter, the Collector, the Healer and the Strategist. He knows their uncomfortable truths but that doesn't matter. They are people, human, and he should treat them as such. He should know them as such. And he wants to. 

And the Strategist – no, Geoff – thinks, these burdens should be shared.

**Author's Note:**

> 5 more to go. Sorry for any mistakes, I wrote this at 1 am


End file.
